The air in the studio had become a thick, humid veil of tension. Haruka sat frozen on the edge of the mattress, her knees trembling so violently she feared they might give way.
Her mind was a battlefield of warring impulses. One part of her, the part that belonged to the quiet mornings with Ren and the polite tea ceremonies, was screaming at her to stand up, to straighten her clothes, and to run back through the dark garden until she reached the safety of her known world.
But the other part of her... the part that lived in the shadows of her own skin... was paralyzed by the sight of him.
She closed her eyes for a second, and the memory hit her like a physical blow. She remembered the sensation of Mike's hands pinning her wrists above her head, the sheer, overwhelming weight of his muscular body crushing her into the sheets, and the way he didn't ask; he took.
